


Work Song (My Babe Would Never Fret None, About What My Hands and My Body Done)

by NoStrings_OnMe



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, hozier songs, preserum!stucky flashbacks, recovery bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoStrings_OnMe/pseuds/NoStrings_OnMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SongFic for "Work Song" by Hozier</p><p>A story that follows Steve and Bucky from their time before the war, through the boys' heartbreaking reunion post Winter Soldier. In the end, they learn that neither time nor trial can get in the way of true love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work Song (My Babe Would Never Fret None, About What My Hands and My Body Done)

_Boys working on empty. Is that the kind of way to face the burning heat? I just think about my baby; I’m so full of love I could barely eat. There’s nothing sweeter than my baby; I’d never want one from the cherry tree. ‘Cause my baby’s sweet as can be. He gives me toothaches just from kissing me._

“Steve, c’mon! I wanna get to Coney Island ‘fore the line gets too long!” Bucky waved Steve on earnestly from up the block. Steve leaned against the nearest building and coughed.

“’m comin’, Buck, hang o-” he spluttered as he fell into another coughing fit. Bucky peered down the street, taking in Steve’s small form being wracked with coughs.

“Ahw, dammit,” he muttered, before jogging back to help his friend. “Steve? Stevie, you ok?” Bucky asked, slapping him lightly on the back a few times. Steve continued to wheeze, and Bucky lowered them both so they were kneeling on the ground. “Just breathe, okay? In and out, pal, you’ve got this,” Bucky soothed, holding Steve’s wrist with his other hand.

Steve coughed hard a few more times before collapsing back against the brick wall. He sighed heavily and looked up sheepishly at Bucky. “Sorry, Buck,” he whispered. “You wore me out, runnin’ ahead with your long legs ‘n all.”

Bucky blushed slightly, and moved to sit next to Steve. “Was just excited,” he mumbled, punching Steve playfully on the arm.

Steve laughed and leaned his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “’s okay. Gimme a minute, and we can go on ahead.” They sat like that for a while, Bucky listening to Steve’s breath slowly even out.

Eventually, he stood up and extended his hand. “Ready to go?”

Steve accepted his hand and replied, “Sure. Race you?”

Bucky barked a laugh and shook his head. “Not a chance, punk. But…” He gazed at Steve thoughtfully for a moment. Steve shifted uncomfortably under Bucky’s stare, and was about to say something in protest when Bucky scooped him up.

“Hey! Buck!” he yelled indignantly as the taller man threw him over his shoulder. “Put me down!” Bucky took off down the street, Steve jostling with his pace. “’s faster this way, pal,” he claimed breathlessly. They went on like that until they got to the fairgrounds a few blocks away. Bucky set Steve down carefully, hand on his arm as he regained his balance. “Hell of a ride, eh?” Bucky smirked.

Steve grinned and shook out his blonde hair, finger-combing the windswept mop back into place. “You sure know how to treat a fella, Bucky,” he chided.

Bucky straightened his posture, lowering his eyes and crooned, “What can I say? It’sa natural talent.”

Steve rolled his eyes and pulled on Bucky’s elbow. “Whatever ya say. Now, let’s go and ride somethin’- I didn’t get carried all the way here for nothin’, ya know.”

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

“I think I’mma be sick,” Steve mumbled, clutching his stomach and leaning against the pier. Bucky stumbled next to him, resting his head on the wooden railing.

“C’mon, Stevie, it wasn’t that ba-” He hiccupped, and groaned quietly.

“We rode the Cyclone six times, Buck,” Steve said, as if Bucky needed reminding.

“I know, I know,” Bucky waved him off. “I always have great ideas, don’t I?”

Steve groaned. “You’re just full of ‘em,” he spit out. The pair leaned over the rail, letting the cool salty breeze ground them again. “What’re you doin’?” Steve asked, turning to look at Bucky.

He was sitting on the pier, counting out a number of small coins. “Tryin’a see how much money I got,” Bucky said, continuing to count the coins. “What for?” Steve asked, sitting down next to him. “Gonna buy you a drink,” Bucky mumbled. “Ta make up for the ride.”

“Aw, Buck, you don’t gotta-” Steve started, but Bucky gathered his coins, stood up, and cut him off.

“I wanna,” he insisted. “We got a little extra this month, after those double shifts I took last week.” He shrugged, and cast his eyes downward. “And maybe I wanna treat my best guy,” he murmured.

Steve blushed, and stood up. “What a gentleman,” he smiled, squeezing Bucky’s hand. He pulled away, and inclined his head back towards the park. “I wanna give you somethin’ too, then. Follow me.”

Bucky smiled, and followed Steve to the fairgrounds. They navigated through the maze of people before Steve found what he was looking for. “A photo booth?” Bucky asked, quirking his eyebrow.

Steve nodded eagerly, and pulled the curtain aside. “Figured it might be fun,” he shrugged, and Bucky followed him into the booth. It was cramped, and they struggled for a moment to fit themselves comfortably. When they were ready, Steve inserted a few coins, and the camera blinked on.

They were both caught a little off-guard for the first one, but resolved to be ready for the next. The two smiled brightly, blinking afterwards at the blinding flash. For the third one, Bucky stuck his tongue out, and Steve crossed his eyes. “Last one!” Steve called out, readjusting his seat so that he would be in the center of the frame. “What should we do?”

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Bucky whispered, and before Steve knew what was happening, Bucky had gripped his chin his hand, spinning Steve towards him with his other.

“Wha-” Steve started, but just as the flash went off, Bucky leaned in, pressing his lips gently against Steve’s. Steve blinked, startled, but quickly composed himself and kissed back. He threaded his hand through Bucky’s hair, smiling gently against his lips.

All too soon, Bucky pulled back. He grinned up at Steve from under his eyelashes, biting his lip. “Too much?” he asked quietly.

Steve shook his head. “Just right,” he answered. He smiled back, and they exited the booth, anxiously awaiting the development of their pictures. Bucky snatched them out of the tray when they machine spit them out, holding them close to his face so Steve couldn’t see.

“Aw, man, this one’sa keeper,” he smirked. Steve craned his neck, trying to get a better view. “Let me see!” he demanded, but Bucky held them high above his head. “They’ll be too much for ya,” Bucky insisted. “I’m gonna have ta keep them safe for ya. Wouldn’t want nobody to know that you’re sweet on a fella like me.”

Steve stepped back and pursed his lips. “If you wanna play dirty, Buck, I’m game,” he teased. Before Bucky knew what was happening, Steve had jumped him, going right for his most ticklish spots.

“Stop! Unfair!” Bucky howled, trying desperately to fight off Steve’s ferocious attacks.

“Not until you give me the pictures,” Steve insisted.

“Fine! Fine!” Bucky handed Steve the small strip, leaning against the machine and breathing heavily. “You would blackmail an innocent man, while he’s down,” he mused disappointedly.

Steve snorted. “‘Innocent’ is a subjective term, jerk,” he replied. He lifted the photo strip to the light so that he could see. The first one was awful, as he had expected. The second was slightly better, Bucky looking incredibly charming, but Steve felt that his smile was too crooked. The third was alright, too. But the last one. Bucky’s jawline was sharp and clear from the contrast the flash had created. Steve’s hair threw the light in golden rays, and his smile was evident even in the grainy film. He became conscious of Bucky leaning over his shoulder, and shivered.

Bucky laughed breathily. “We look good, yeah?” he whispered.

Steve nodded, and tucked the strip into his pocket. “I’ll keep ‘em safe,” he promised, turning to face Bucky. “Now, I believe you owe me a drink.”

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Bucky stumbled against the doorway of their apartment, trying and failing to fit the key into the slot. “Here, lemme,” Steve slurred. He reached for the key, but Bucky pulled it away from him.

“No, Stevie, ‘s okay. I got it,” he insisted, finally opening the door and falling into the kitchen.

“Bucky,” Steve began, hiccupping. “Y’know I only said ya had ta buy me one drink.” Bucky giggled, and collapsed on the couch. “I had to- I had ta buy ya one for the shit I messed up today,” he said. “I had to buy you another for the shit I messed up yesterday, and another for the day before that, and anothr’ for the day before that…”

Steve miraculously balanced on one leg as he removed his shoes, before he sat down next to Bucky. “What shit did you- did you mess up yestr’day?”

Bucky laughed, soft and low. “I dun’t remember…remember exactly,” he admitted, leaning closer to Steve. “But, I know it was somethin’.”

Steve leaned closer as well. “What’dya mean?”

Bucky sighed, and curled his legs underneath him. He rested his head on Steve’s lap, and sighed again as Steve began stroking his fingers through his hair. “’m not like you, Stevie,” he said quietly. “’m not good. I’ve done bad things, lotsa bad things…” He trailed off. “I’ve tried, I really have, ta protect you. Maybe-” his voice broke, “-maybe, that’ll make up for it.”

Steve’s eyes filled with tears, and his hands stopped their petting. “D’ya really believe that, Buck?” he asked softly.

“Yea,” Bucky whispered. “I wish it wasn’t like this, but it is.” Bucky turned on his back and looked up at him. “You’re so much better than me, Stevie,” he admitted. “I don’t deserve ya.”

The tears spilled over and ran down Steve’s cheeks. “Oh, Buck,” Steve murmured. “’m so sorry.”

Bucky smiled up at him sadly. “’s okay, Steve.” He reached up and curled his hand around Steve’s cheek. “I love you anways.”

Steve lugged Bucky up into a sitting position, and wrapped him in his arms. “I wantcha to listen ta me, yea, Buck? Bucky?” Bucky lifted his eyes to meet Steve, and smiled glassily.

“Yesss, Steve?”

He looked at him seriously. “You’re good, okay? You’re so good. ‘n I love you too, so much.”

“Aw, Stevie,” he said slowly. “I wish I could believe that.” Bucky leaned back into Steve’s embrace, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. Steve rested back against the couch, rubbing circles with his thumb on the back of Bucky’s hand. He realized that he was far too drunk to be having this conversation, so he decided to let it lie for now.

They lay like that on the couch for a while, until Steve could hear Bucky start to snore. He shifted him off of his lap, laying him on his side. He kissed his temple lightly. “I do love you,” he whispered. “So much.”

 

 _When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down; I’ll crawl home to him_.

 

The Winter Soldier came to rest in an alley somewhere in Brooklyn. He wrapped his arms around his knees, hugging them close to his body. People glanced at him occasionally, but hurried on after meeting his icy glare. He had missed his extraction time. The Soldier knew that his handlers would be upset with him; he would probably be tortured, definitely would be wiped again. He knew that he should find a way to make it back to them, but he couldn’t.

There was something about this city that was keeping him here. A memory - he couldn’t be sure, it had been a while since he’d had one of those – tugged at his conscious. He felt as if there was something, or someone, he should be looking for.

The Soldier waited until it grew dark before venturing out of the alleyway. He walked the streets silently, cataloguing everything he saw in a vain hope that something would help him to remember.

He just wanted to remember.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

The Winter Soldier watched the sun begin to rise over the tall buildings of the city. The air was chilled, and he knew he must find somewhere to go before the streets became crowded again.

He walked around Central Park for a while, carefully sidestepping any early-morning joggers that crossed his path. The Soldier spotted a hidden patch of trees, just up ahead, and headed towards them.

“On your left,” a voice called, and the Soldier turned quickly to see a tall, blonde man jogging past him. He ran faster than he should have been able to, the Soldier noted, but seemed to pay the Soldier little mind.

The incident was innocent, ordinary. But as the Soldier settled down behind the trees to wait for nightfall, he could not seem to shake the man from his mind.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Steve Rogers lay awake in his bed, staring up at the blank white ceiling. Trouble sleeping wasn’t something new for him, but tonight felt different.

The man in the park. Something about him was familiar…too familiar. And Steve couldn’t stop thinking about him.

With a heavy, exasperated sigh, Steve rolled out of bed. He rummaged in the top drawer of the dresser until he found his good sketch pad, and tucked a pencil behind his ear as he sat next to the window. He tried to draw him. Steve knew that rationally, this wasn’t going to help. He’d seen the guy for what- three seconds? This insomnia and anxiety probably had nothing to do with an off-hand encounter with a bum in the park.

But still…Steve thought, and started on the portrait. It was quiet for a while, the silence interrupted only by passing cars and the scratch of pencil on paper. Steve’s eyes were beginning to droop closed; he put the pencil down and scrubbed his face with his hands.

He blinked blearily and looked back at the drawing, sure that it was going to be a failure. He gasped. Two eyes stared harshly, calculatedly back at him. Stringy hair obscured most of the features, but he could easily make out the jawline he had penciled in. Strong and sharp, Steve would recognize it anywhere. Paired with the pouty lips, set in a harsh grimace, he knew at once who he had been drawing.

Bucky.

That doesn’t make sense, Steve thought, panicked. Bucky’s dead, he’s gone, he fell off the train…

But he knew what he saw. The man in the park was Bucky, there was no question. Steve pressed his face against the window, as if he could pinpoint his friend in a park from halfway across the city.

Steve flipped the sketchbook closed in favor of his laptop. It would be no use going after Bucky tonight; he would have to wait for the morning. Until then, he would wait.

 

_That’s when my baby found me- I was three days on a drunken sin. I woke with his walls around me, nothing in the room but an empty crib. And I was burning up a fever; I didn’t care much how long I lived. But I swear I though I dreamed him: he never asked me once about the wrong I did._

 

The Soldier – no, Bucky, he told himself, your name’s Bucky – was propped up against a tree in Central Park, the very same tree he had slept in last night. He knew that this wasn’t safe, he should get going be on the move, reduce the risk that he would be found… But he couldn’t. He had to stay here. Wait.

For what? Bucky asked himself. He had started talking to himself more recently, bouncing around memories inside his head. The conditioning from the Red Room was starting to wear off- he could always see things more clearly after a few weeks without a wipe.

Right now, he was going on about two months on his own. His handlers would be looking for him, he was sure, but he also knew he could evade them.

Bucky had forgotten, during his time with HYDRA, how hard it was to be alone. There were so many things that needed to be done to keep oneself alive. He stole food when he could; he wasn’t proud of it, but there was little other choice. Moving mostly by night, when he was less likely to run into people, he canvased the city.

He couldn’t tell what he was looking for, but he could feel it, deep within his bones. There was something tying him to this city. And he needed to know what.

This mission that he had given himself was getting harder, though. Food was accessed sparingly, and he had little rest. His body, shaped by the cold Russian winters, was not reacting well to the heat of New York. Even moving at night, Bucky had to stop frequently to cast away dizzy spells. He was falling apart.

And he didn’t care. He had been planning – yesterday, in fact - to just keep walking. Bucky had ascertained that there were only two outcomes to such a plan: either he found whatever it was that he was looking for, or he died trying. He put the same amount of weight on both options, and decided this was the best plan.

It seemed like the latter option was going to win out, though. Bucky slumped against the group of trees, closing his eyes against the hot afternoon sun. His mind was fuzzy, the noise of busy New York pedestrians blurring into an uneven melody. The Soldier never gave up on a mission, always saw his orders through until the end.

James Barnes was tenacious, too, that was true, but there was one important, glaring difference between the man and the gun. He was human.

Again, Bucky ran his fingers through his long, matted hair and exhaled a shaky sigh. His stomach grumbled, his throat burned with thirst, and his head ached from the heat and his lack of sleep.

I don’t know how much longer I can do this, he thought to himself. With the last of the Red Room conditioning seeping out of his veins, self-preservation was no longer high on his list of priorities.

I don’t know how much longer I want to do this, Bucky amended, because damned if he wasn’t going to be truthful to even himself.

The man behind the gun closed his eyes once more, and sank back against the grove of trees.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Steve Rogers jogged through the park, subtly glancing at each patch of trees that he passed. His heart was beating fast, but not from the exertion of exercise.

For once in his life, Steve was ready to admit: he was scared. He was scared that the man he had run into yesterday was not actually his long-lost partner. He was scared that even if he was, Bucky would no longer know him. He was scared, because he didn’t know how he would be able to handle that. Steve took a deep breath as he continued his run, trying to refocus his mind on the task at hand.

He stopped at the next fountain for a drink of water, and surveyed the brush around him while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His heart stopped. A man – almost unrecognizable as such, as his hair and clothes were so ragged and dirty – sat not too far from him.

Steve approached him slowly, and whispered (willing his voice not to break), “Bucky?” The man didn’t stir. Steve reached out apprehensively and tapped his shoulder, which still yielded no response. “Bucky!” Steve whispered, this time more urgently. As Bucky’s body lolled to the side, Steve caught a glint of the dirty metal arm he had concealed beneath his scruffy clothing.

His breath caught in his throat, but Steve barreled on. He pressed two fingers firmly against the side of Bucky’s neck, and breathed a sigh of relief when he could feel the slow (but steady) thump, thump of the other man’s heartbeat. He cupped Bucky’s face in his hands, brushing some of his hair out of his eyes.

“Bucky, listen to me,” he said softly. “You’re gonna be okay, yeah? I’m gonna take you home, we’ll get you better ‘n no time.” He frowned when this speech elicited still no response from Bucky, but continued anyway. “’m so sorry, Buck. None ‘a this was ever your fault, and I just wish I coulda done somethin’ for ya.” Steve sighed again, and carefully lifted Bucky up, bridal-style, and started off towards his apartment.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Bucky woke, several hours later, and sat up bolt-right in his…bed? Where was he? He looked around, and started breathing faster when he realized that he could not recognize his surroundings. It was a small room, sparsely furnished except for a bed, wooden table, and armchair. There was a small stack of books on the desk, some in French and some in English.

Bucky could not find a single picture frame or other personal effect that he could use to identify his…captor? Savior? He tried to stand, but the simple motion of righting himself sent him reeling.

Bucky fell back against his pillows with a solid thump and a painful groan. He rested his arm on his forehead and waited for what he was sure was his imminent death.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Steve was in the living room, flipping channels when he heard soft noises from the bedroom. He could hear the springs in the bed creaking, and then squealing loudly. He put these things together and assumed that Bucky had woken up, so he switched off the television and headed nervously towards the room.

He rapt on the door with his knuckles. “Bucky?” he called. “I’m coming in,” he announced, and threw the door open. Bucky was curled amidst the mess of sheets and pillows, and he peered up at Steve frantically. “Bucky?” Steve asked again. Bucky jumped back, as much as he could at least while still lying down.

“Who- who are…” he rasped.

Steve’s expression softened, and he came closer to the bed. “It’s me, Buck, it’s me. Steve? Steve Rogers?”

Bucky’s eyes widened, bright and frenzied with fever, showing some recognition.   “Stevie, what h-”

“I don’t know, pal,” Steve cut him off. He came even closer, sitting precariously on the edge of the bed. “I just- I been lookin’ for you, Buck, for months. After the bridge? And I- I didn’t think I would ever find ya,” Steve admitted. “And then, yesterday, I found you, in the park.” He spread his hands helplessly. “It was pure luck, y’know? Just like you use’ta say.”

Bucky continued to watch him, calculated but somehow intimate. He nodded after each sentence, and when Steve was done, he sat up slowly. Steve could see how much pain he was in; his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his skin was a ghostly pale. It broke his heart, to see his best friend suffering like this.

But Steve understood that Bucky was not as he had been seventy years ago. Boundaries were important, he knew, and he would give Bucky the time to relearn to trust him.

Bucky nodded, and pulled the sheets tighter around his body. “’M cold, Stevie,” he murmured.

Slowly, so that Bucky had time to pull away, Steve reached out and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. “You’re burnin’ up, Buck,” he said, startled. Bucky just looked back at him sadly, still stuck in whatever mental fog HYDRA had put him in.

Steve looked helplessly around the room, trying to decide what to do. He wasn’t a doctor; all he had to go on was his years of being in and out of the hospital. He bit his lip, wondering if maybe it was time to call Sam or Natasha or somebody. But his resolve wavered when he looked back at Bucky, sitting half-awake in the bed. Steve knew that bringing in a third party this early would destroy the fragile bond that the two of them had formed.

He sighed, and thought, Guess I’m doing this one on my own. “I’ll be right back, okay, Buck?” Steve said, easing off the bed. Bucky nodded slightly, his eyes still gazing at something unseen. Steve headed towards the kitchen with one last backwards glance. He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, and shook out a handful of pills from the bottle of acetaminophen on the counter. He hesitated, then added a cool washcloth and a granola bar.

“’M back,” he called softly, toeing the door to the bedroom shut. “Brought some snacks, and some medicine too,” he explained, sitting next to Bucky on the bed. The other man took the proffered goods, and hungrily descended on the bar. He crunched one of the water bottles as he emptied it, and Steve smiled. The actions may have been instinctual, but they were the first signs of life he had seen so far.

When he tried to get Bucky to take the medicine, he balked. “It’s okay, Buck, promise. They’ll help ya sleep, hopefully take your fever down a little.” Bucky shook his head, adamant. “No drugs,” he whispered. “Not anymore.” He took the second water bottle from Steve’s other hand and took a small sip.

“I’m sorry.” Steve’s expression softened. It was clear that something traumatic had happened while Bucky was…away, something that had deeply affected him. But Steve could tell that this wasn’t the time to probe his friend’s deep psychological issues. He forced a smile, and he set the pills on the nightstand. “Hey, it’s okay. No need to apologiz.” He wrung his hands nervously in his lap. “Do you, uh – do you need anything else?”

Bucky took another drink of water, before leaning over and setting it on the floor. “Would you- maybe, just for tonight…Could you stay, um-” Bucky’s mouth opened and closed as he floundered for words. “Stay here with me?”

Steve tried to control his expression, but on the inside he was spluttering. Bucky wanted him? To stay with him, overnight? Truthfully, all Steve wanted to do was fold Bucky into his arms and hold him close while they slept. He would’ve never thought, though, that Bucky would allow such close contact. “Of course, Buck,” he finally got out. “Anything you want.”

Bucky nodded jerkily, and hastily threw back the sheets so that Steve could climb further into the bed. Steve followed his lead, and after shifting around for a few moments found himself lying face to face with his friend. He inched slightly closer, but stopped when he heard the sharp intake of Bucky’s breath. “Is this okay?” he asked quickly.

“Mhm,” Bucky responded. He inched closer, too, until his head rested on Steve’s chest. He detangled his arms and slung them gently around Bucky’s shoulders and waist. Bucky sighed with contentment, making Steve smile with heartbreak.

“I ‘member this, y’know,” Bucky yawned sleepily. “Layin’ like this, back in our apartment.” He moved his arm so that he could rest his hand on the side of Steve’s neck. “You were…so small, back then. Was scared you were gonna…break.” Bucky’s words jumbled and came more slowly as he came closer and closer to sleep.

Steve massaged small circles into Bucky’s back. “You do?” he asked, his voice breaking only a little. He could feel Bucky nod languidly against his chest. “That’s…about it, though,” Bucky mumbled apologetically. He yawned again, and Steve laughed breathily.

“That’s okay, Bucky,” he assured him. “Take your time. It’ll be okay.”

In a sudden moment of lucidity, Bucky sat up on his elbows and stared at Steve, eyes pleading. “Really, Stevie?” he asked, his voice a whisper. “Promise?”

Steve smoothed back Bucky’s hair, and held his chin gently in his hand. “Yeah, Buck, I promise,” he whispered back.

 

 _My baby never fret none, about what my hands and my body done. If the Lord don’t forgive me,_ _I’ll still have my baby and my babe would have me. When I was kissing on my baby, and he put his love down soft and sweet; in the lowland plot I was free- heaven and hell were words to me._

 

Steve stood up straight, drying his mouth on the towel hanging next to the sink. He replaced his toothbrush, and looked at himself in the mirror. Today was the day. Bucky was coming home.

After that fateful night six months ago, they had woken together and talked for hours. Bucky’s fever had finally broken, and he spoke in a low voice, recounting the last seventy years of his life for Steve. They had lain in that bed all day, the sun gradually filtering in through the blinds. Bucky took frequent breaks; sometimes, a story would be too much for him and he would go silent. It was during those times that Steve would hold him close and whispers softly to him. Eventually, Bucky would regain his composure and continue telling his tales of horror.

Steve, to his credit, didn’t flinch once. Each time Bucky retold an instance in the Red Room, or an experience in the field, Steve would simply nod, and squeeze his hand a little tighter.

No matter how many deaths Bucky remembered, no matter how many missions came flooding back to him, Steve never reprimanded him. At the end, Bucky had asked him why. “Why would I?” Steve responded, tracing Bucky’s lower lip with his thumb. “None of it was your fault. You were traumatized, brainwashed. Bucky, you are just as much a victim as any of those people that were killed.”

And Bucky’s eyes had welled up with tears, and he had pressed his face into Steve’s neck. And Steve had held him, spilling a few tears himself. Eventually, Bucky had lifted his face and stated, with resolute certainty, that he wanted help. Steve nodded, fully supporting any decision Bucky wanted to make for himself.

“You know,” he cautioned, “that they might take you away. For a while,” he clarified, looking intently into Bucky’s eyes. “They don’t know your story like I do, Buck. They might be angry, they might be scared.”

Bucky nodded sadly. “I know, Stevie. It’s okay, though. I’m ready.” And Steve had hugged him close, proud of his bravery and courage.

The next day they had walked into SHIELD headquarters, hand-in-hand, and Bucky turned himself in. As predicted, he was cuffed and immediately taken into observation. But as they led him down the long hallway, he turned and caught Steve’s gaze, and winked.

And Steve knew that they would be okay.

Now, they were ready to release Bucky into the world. His therapists and doctors at the facility felt confident that all the triggers were gone from his programming, and that he would be safe in society. The SHIELD recovery program is intensive and thorough, so Steve trusted their decisions. And when Nick Fury himself had called Steve and invited him to the release, Steve knew that they had done the right thing.

So here he was, pacing the waiting room of the headquarters’ psychiatric facility. The nurse who had checked him in assured him that Bucky was just gathering the last of his things, and would be out any minute. He was nervous, he would admit. The program Bucky had been in hadn’t allowed visitors, so this would be the first time they had seen each other in six months. Steve was worried. What if he’s different? What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me? What if-

Steve heard soft footsteps behind him, and turned with a smile. “Miss me, punk?” Bucky asked in his familiar, smoke-roughened voice. He grinned widely, and spread his arms.

“Yeah, jerk, I guess I did,” he admitted, and embraced the other man in a tight hug. After a minute, Steve stepped back a bit, and appraised Bucky’s new form. He had put on weight again, so his flesh arm was just as toned as his cybernetic one. His hair was cut too, not as short as before the war, but no longer a tangled mop. His eyes looked brighter, his skin glowed, and he looked… …Happier.

“They treat ya okay in there?” he asked, still holding Bucky close. Bucky shrugged, and leaned in a little closer.

“Pretty good. They let me drink coffee in the mornin’s and smoke in the afternoons, so it was arright.”

Steve nodded and tucked Bucky’s head back against his neck. “’M happy for you, Buck. You’ve got your life back.”

Bucky turned his neck and looked up at Steve. “We got a second chance, didn’t we, Stevie?”

“Not somethin’ everyone gets,” Steve conceded. “Wouldn’t wanna waste it.”

Bucky’s eyes glittered like they always did before he did something devious, and he licked his lips and smiled. “Definitely,” he murmured, before leaning back in for a long overdue kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I always appreciate comments & kudos :)


End file.
